


sudden spark

by restlesslikeme



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, No Plot Just Tenderness, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlesslikeme/pseuds/restlesslikeme
Summary: “I... appreciate you taking care of him,” Djarin manages, sounding uncertain and perhaps a little ashamed of his own forwardness -- but not ashamed enough to release his grip on Luke’s hand. Although his eyes are hidden behind the inscrutable black of his visor, Luke swears that he holds his gaze just as tightly, and his own pulse hammers in his ears
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 144





	sudden spark

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the prompt _The feel of fingers brushing together by accident._ It's also my first published little Mando fic, as short and sweet as it is! Thank you to Peps for letting me piggyback off of one of his requests <3

Luke hadn’t known what to expect when he invited Din Djarin here. He hadn’t known what to expect of him at all -- their first and only meeting was so brief, and it had taken him offguard. He had been expecting a sentinel of a guardian and had been met instead with a father. Waves of grief and love that beat at the air around them so loudly that Luke could barely stand to carry the child away in his arms.

It lingered on him, unable to be ignored, and once Grogu had settled in, it didn’t take long for Luke to make the decision to call Djarin here.

He’s been here for longer than expected now, and has remained hidden behind his helmet for the duration of his stay. Grogu was overjoyed to see him, and hasn’t seemed to find anything strange in his father’s discretion -- which makes Luke wonder. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; it gives Luke something to ponder over, an excuse to let his thoughts trail back to quiet man who shares their meals without partaking, who watches their training rituals with a quietness that wouldn’t betray his confusion if Luke didn’t have other ways to pick up on it. 

Because his thoughts do trail, despite his best efforts.

“He’s adjusting well,” Djarin says, nodding thoughtfully, the low timbre of his voice always softer than Luke expects. They’re alone now, Grogu asleep for the night, and his armour gleams in the firelight. “I was worried, but --”

“I didn’t mean to leave without speaking to you,” Luke interjects apologetically, for the upteenth time since his guest’s arrival. “The timing was...” he trails off, finding himself caught by the warm light cast over cool Beskar. “...I’m glad you were able to come.”

Next to him, Djarin nods again, polite and restrained.

“I was thinking if you’d like to visit more regularly --” Luke starts, when suddenly the fire sputters and spits in front of them. He starts at the sound, and when he reaches forward to grab the branch in the pit to settle the logs down, Djarin apparently has the same idea.

“Oh, I --”

It’s just a split second of contact, barely a flash of leather against his bare skin, but it’s  _ warm _ ...

Luke laughs, an apology ready on his lips, but Djarin snatches his wrist rather than allowing him to withdraw. The gesture startles him: it’s firmer and far more determined than Luke has ever seen from him. It feels oddly divorced from the man’s quiet disposition, especially when he holds tight and doesn’t let go. 

“I... appreciate you taking care of him,” Djarin manages, sounding uncertain and perhaps a little ashamed of his own forwardness -- but not ashamed enough to release his grip on Luke’s hand. Although his eyes are hidden behind the inscrutable black of his visor, Luke swears that he holds his gaze just as tightly, and his own pulse hammers in his ears.

Bravely, slowly, he reaches forward, placing his palm gently against the side of the helmet. He expects it to be cold, but it isn’t; his thumb meets the curve of metal that seems to mimic a cheekbone. Djarin’s posture stiffens, and he stills, but ---

But he doesn’t pull away.

“I’m not supposed to remove it,” he says quietly, an answer to Luke’s unspoken question. Idly, perhaps unconsciously, his thumb rolls along the underside of Luke’s wrist, and it takes deliberate focus for Luke to not lose track of the conversation entirely. “It’s -- forbidden.”

It makes sense: the tumultuous emotions Luke had sensed before, and the ache of conflict he feels come off of him now. Djarin doesn’t withdraw, despite his explanation, though his head bows just slightly. His grip flexes around Luke’s wrist, and with an abrupt sense of clarity, Luke feels his own tension reflected right back at him.

“I understand,” he answers softly, a smile flickering briefly across his lips. 

He can’t remove the helmet, but he wants...

Leaning forward, Luke lets his forehead rest against the smooth surface of Djarin’s helmet. He doesn’t know what compels him to do it, only knows that the impulse is too strong to resist, and once it’s done he can’t take it back. Djarin sighs, a soft noise that his helmet can’t muffle, and Luke wants to kiss him so badly he can’t breathe. 

He settles for pressing his lips tenderly to the side of his helmet instead. When Djarin’s other hand lifts to tangle in his hair and keep him close, Luke knows the gesture is reciprocated.

  
  
  



End file.
